


Bourbon

by My_Young_Friend



Category: Heroes - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-24
Updated: 2009-11-24
Packaged: 2017-10-03 16:26:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/My_Young_Friend/pseuds/My_Young_Friend
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You know how many company employees had to shoot their own partner? One. The only one who was <i>fucking</i> his goddamn partner."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bourbon

"Watching, always watching. I worked with you for years, I know when you're around, I can _tell_. It's not like you try to hide, beyond the obvious."

Bennet threw the bottle into the wall opposite. The dregs dripped down the wall between the shards sticking into the godawful, patterned wallpaper. Slowly even the glass slid down, leaving the sweet residue to slowly congeal.

 

"You remember the afternoon on the bridge?" Bennet said to the silent room, taking a swig from the new bottle. "You have any idea how hard that was? No, of course you don't, because you don't have a fucking _family_ for The Company to hold against you." He was angry but his voice began to break. He breathed deeply, gulped another mouthful down.

"You were right, anyway. They turned on me too. Tried to kill me. Maybe I should have let them." Bennet continued, melancholically.

 

"You have any idea what it feels like to have a death sentence hanging over you? Bennet smiled bitterly. "Actually, I guess you do. But I can't run away. I have responsibilities."

He stared at the floor, like a scolded puppy.

 

 "I have a family." Bennet repeated.

Bennet fell silent for a moment, then screamed "Don't mock me, you smug bastard!"

He seemed to realise too late that there had been no other voice. The room was as lonely now as it had been when he rented it for the night. No matter how much he fantasized, there was no sign that he was being watched. He was alone. He was always alone, here. Another gulp of bourbon.

 

"I'm going to die, bullet through the skull. You like the symmetry?" He didn't stop. It didn't seem to matter that he was shouting at the wall, Bennet needed to pretend that Claude was listening.

"My own daughter won't even care. Not like me. I cared. I fucking _cared_ that I had to shoot you. Just because you couldn't stay beneath the radar."

 

Bennet snorted. "You know how many company employees had to shoot their own partner? One. The only one who was _fucking_ his goddamn partner." The new bottle of bourbon weighed Bennet's right hand down heavily, clinking as it hit the side of the bed. The movement of the liquid inside made the bottle sway slightly, dragging Bennet's hand with it.

He switched focus again. "It was never on my terms, was it, Claude? It was always you. 'C'mon rookie, let's give the neighbours something to really worry about.' And 'Better make sure these motel beds are up to Company standards.'"

 

The bottle was dragged up violently, as though Bennet was going for a second try at demolishing the wall. But his hand failed to release the neck and instead the momentum dragged him forwards, leaning almost doubled over at the end of the bed. Staring at the floor, Bennet continued.

"I never got a look in. It was always "Not now, rookie, not here." It was all goddamn bullshit. I hope you really are fucking dead this time."

The bottle grazed the floor as Bennet swayed precariously back and forth, eyes shut by the liquor in his system, his meeting with the floor seeming inevitable.

 

Clink.

The bottle had connected with something solid. Bennet dragged his eyelids open to see a scuffed black boot. It had a friend and both had jean-covered legs growing up from inside them. Bennet tilted his body towards the bed, leaning back on his forearms either side of him. His glasses had fallen off somewhere between bottles and he squinted upwards, tried to focus on the figure.

 

"While you're down there mate, it's been a while..." Claude tapered off, but the cheshire cat grin remained.

Bennet launched himself at the intruder with all the grace and balance due to a man currently two thirds through his second bottle of liquor. He lumbered at Claude, pushing him against the wall.

"This works too, I guess, but can we move a bit, there's something sticky-" Bennet's fist cut him off. Even at point blank range there was barely any force behind it, but Claude still caught Bennet's wrists to prevent a repeat performance.

 

"You bastard," Bennet slurred. "You goddamn bastard, where the fuck have you _been_?"

"Good Ship Lollipop, want a toffee apple?" Claude laughed as Bennet tried to wrest his wrists free. He pulled the struggling drunk closer to him.

 

"I've been around. Bit here, bit there. A lot here actually. What does Sandra think you're doing every Wednesday night?"

"Team buildin' at work."

 

Claude laughed again. "Same excuse, different company. Sandra's a very forgiving woman."

"I love her," Bennet said, sincerity evident in every word.

 

"I know you do."

"Don't love you. Hate you. Fucking invisible asshole."

 

"Speaking of which..."

Bennet started thrashing again and Claude decided to stop playing. In one smooth movement, Claude released Bennet's hands to grasp the swaying head.

 

"Don't throw up," Claude ordered before pulling Bennet into a kiss. Bennet stopped thrashing and stood completely still. Not a muscle moved and Claude pulled away, wondering if Bennet had managed to pass out standing up.

Bennet stood, smirking at Claude, with eyes shining in a way that Claude couldn't quite place.

 

"Three things you should know Claude. One," Bennet held up a finger and Claude noticed that the swaying had stopped. "This is not your night; this is my night."

Claude looked suspiciously at Bennet, then the door, then Bennet's right hand as it tightened around his arm, preventing escape. Bennet's other hand raised a second finger.

 

"Two, you're not going anywhere until I say so."

Claude could feel his fight or flight instincts rearing up. Where was bloody Petrelli when you needed him?

 

"Three," Bennet said, all hint of a slur gone. "I'm not. That. Drunk."

Claude smiled and raised his eyebrows. This was going to be interesting.

AN: Those who have seen the film Beerfest may find certain aspects of this story familiar. It's not plagiarism; it's the highest form of flattery.

 


End file.
